Light on
by Dedeen
Summary: "Tears slowly unleashed from the back of my eyes darkening the spots they trickled on my sweater. Jim kept his expression stoic and his hand firmly clutched to mine, squeezing tightly. The baby kicked hard and I sobbed even harder."
1. Chapter 1

I don't really know where this came from. I'm VERY hesitant about it and that's why I'm posting it. I want to know if I should continue. It's up to you guys...

The title comes from David Cook's song, Light on. For some reason it kept playing while I was writing this and it just stuck.

Author's Chapter Notes:

**EmilyHalpert** Helped me Beta this one!

I own nada  


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We find out about it eight weeks before my due date.

It was December and cold, the trees were bare and a sheet of ice covered the entire city, making everything seem delicate and breakable. I remember being snapped into wakefulness early that morning, in the blackness before dawn by tiny limbs stretching and fluttering inside me.

My belly loomed before me, anchoring me to the bed, but with much effort I got up to use the bathroom and reluctantly padded to the kitchen. I made coffee and watched it stream into the pot, making little exploding puffs. I poured myself some and nursed the mug in my hands until Jim woke from his deep winter sleep and joined me.

He was half awake, face crumpled, hair sticking up in every direction. He came around the kitchen table and placed a small peck on my cheek and lightheartedly admonished our little one for waking me up so early. He poured himself coffee, yawning and desperately rubbing sleep off his eyes.

Outside, the sky was becoming lighter, but everything was still brittle in the extreme cold. Jim complained about the onset of a headache, but we didn't make much of it. He took some ibuprofen (or was it acetaminophen?) and brushed it off. I have headaches all the time. I teased about him having sympathy pains.

Morning dawned and we got ready and left for work, but his headache still persisted. And as the day rolled by, everything became a nuisance to him; even the fluorescence lights were blatantly attacking him. It got to a point that he was unable to support the weight of his throbbing head up. But, he was Jim, a guy, and against my counsel, he toughened it out instead of just taking the day off.

"Pam I need to save up all the vacation days for when the baby comes," he told me. "What kind of person would I be if I wasted it on a headache?"

"A wimpy person," I joked, though I just really wished we had gone home.

"That's what I'm saying."

He kissed my chapped lips and assured me he was fine. That he would be fine.

Five o'clock finally came around and he couldn't wait to leave. When we arrived home, he immediately climbed the stairs and relinquished to the bedroom, where he slept until late that evening. I frowned because that's uncharacteristic of Jim. I checked on him every so often, but he wasn't running a fever and there were no signs of a cold taking root in him.

But at a quarter past ten, I climbed the stair one last time and creeped inside our room as quietly as I could. I sat next to his wilted form on the bed and ran my fingers through his hair, trying to gently pull him away from this deep slumber. After receiving zero response from him, I moved my hand to his arms and chest, carefully nudging him awake. He eventually stirred and his arm went immediately to cover his eyes to shut out any flicker of light.

"Jim?"

"Uhmm?" He hummed from a place deep in his throat.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Myheadisexploding," he mumbled.

"Your head is what?"

"Explooodinnng."

I pulled at the arm concealing his face and I will never forget how bloodshot his eyes were. Not only that, but his face was ghostly pale. Jim looked as though he's about to pass out.

"Jim?" I gasped. "Is it really that bad?"

He nodded.

I began to panic and stumble over my words. "We need...ummm…. D-do you want to go to the hospital?" I suggested.

He nodded again.

That was when my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. My mind couldn't make sense of this. Jim would never concede to being taken to the hospital, unless it was something serious. Last summer, I begged him to go to the emergency room after he cut himself on the grill, but like a macho man, he wrapped it up and walked it off.

For him to be willing to go, he's got to be in extreme pain.

"Okay, C'mon," I said helping him sit up. "Can you walk?" I tried supporting him up but his body was heavy and limp and my belly kept getting in the way.

"Yeah… I can walk," he said almost breathlessly.

I grabbed my purse, threw on some clothes and off we were.

It was quite a challenge for me to drive. Jim kept asking if the baby was okay, if I wasn't squishing it or anything. He was also telling me to slow down because, I confess, I was way over the speed limit. It didn't help that there was no one out at that hour.

Jim kept his cool, mostly for me, I know—even under extreme pain Jim will always be my Jim. The last thing he wanted, I'm sure, was for me to go into preterm-labor—he's read and told me all about it.

When we arrived at the hospital a nurse immediately asked if I that I was in labor. I said no and told her my husband was having a severe headache. She looked at Jim's morbid façade and gave me various forms for him to fill out and sign. Then more papers and more questionnaires and other insurance forms followed … I just know that _I_ was getting a headache after all they had us fill out.

Jim was very quiet, dismal even, just nodding and gingerly signing his name. His eyelids seemed to be loaded with sand and it looked almost unbearable for him to keep his eyes open. Under the hospital fluorescent lights, his skin appeared dead white and his demeanor had shriveled like that of an introverted child.

"Feeling better?" I asked hopefully, but I could tell it wasn't any better.

"Not really," he replied.

"Do you want something to drink? Water?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Gatorade?"

He shook his head, laid it on my shoulder, and the waiting game began. I knew that it was 'just' a headache and the doctors were probably busy on more urgent cases, but I was becoming impatient and the little one inside me was too. At one point Jim felt it poke him on his side.

"Hey there," he said, never lifting his head off my shoulder. He placed a hand on my belly and lazily rubbed it. "We'll be home soon, kay?"

I smiled and ran my fingers through his hair. I knew he was worrying about me. "I'm okay."

"I know."

"Headache getting any better?"

"I don't know. I might have gotten used to it."

I kissed the top of his head and sighed. "Maybe, it's getting better."

Before he could reply, his body convulsed forward and the little he had eaten throughout the day spilled onto the hospital's white tiled floor. He kept dry-heaving and breathing erratically and I panicked. I started yelling for the nurses and doctors and soon a crowd of hospital personnel was surrounding us.

They grabbed hold of both his arms, lifting him off the seat and carried him to a wheelchair, where his limp body settled in a thump. They pushed him through the double doors of the emergency room and I followed behind until a nurse grabbed hold of my arm and hindered me from going after him. I pulled and jerked erratically out of her hold, saying, "that's my husband," and "where are they taking him?" but she didn't yield.

She questioned me of his symptoms and I retold the same tale I had when we first arrived. Then a doctor came and assured me he was fine, but they were running some tests to pinpoint the cause of it all. I asked to see him again and he hesitated, saying that as soon as they were done he would come to get me.

Well, hours went on by and there was no sign of the doctor guy coming to get me. I lost track of time and remained awake, fidgeting. The baby definitely noticed my restlessness and squirmed and kicked and stretched, so much so that it was putting pressure on my back. I rubbed my belly, urging the kid to calm down.

"It's okay. I'm okay…" I whispered.

Out of my periphery I saw the same nurse that had held me before come towards me clutching a Styrofoam cup.

"You feeling alright?" She asked me, taking a seat next to me. She was a short, sturdy woman, probably in her mid 50's. She offered me the cup and said, "It's tea."

I reluctantly took it and sipped it. It wasn't bad. "Thanks."

"How far along are you?" She said, gesturing towards my growing belly.

"Seven months."

"First child?"

I nodded. I really wasn't up for small talk right.

"I see it's kicking up a storm in there," she chuckled, watching me rub my belly like I was making a wish to a belly genie.

"Yeah," I said, offering her a meek smile. "When can I see Jim—my husband?"

"I don't know dear, they are running tests, making sure everything's alright."

She took the hint that I wasn't up to chit-chatting and resumed her nightly duties. I just kept thinking what could be taking them so long? If it wasn't serious, they would've discharged him with a prescription. They would have called it a migraine and we would've called it a night. These thought chased each other like an episode of Tom & Jerry in my head.

Before I could really submerge myself in the various 'what-ifs,' the doctor finally came through the double doors and walked straight to the nurse's station. I sat up a little straighter in my seat, with my hand intertwined on my lap, waiting for him to relieve me of my angst. I watched him with eager eyes as he walked here and there, until he started towards me.

"Mrs. Halpert?"

"Yes," I piped up.

"I'm sorry for the wait."

I nodded—as a formality. It totally wasn't okay. "Is my husband okay?"

"Right now we have him under strong pain killers for the headache."

I nodded, wrapping my arms tightly around myself, waiting for him to continue.

"We performed various tests on him and as of now everything looks…..fine. But," there's always a but, "We're waiting for the results of his CT scan."

"Okay…"

"You can go see him now," he gestured to the nurse from before, "Beth will take you there."

I followed Nurse Beth as she guided me through a maze of tiled hospital corridors. We took the elevator to the third floor and walked down a long hallway, silenced from any nearby noises. She opened the door of the last room on the right and before she could gesture for me to enter, I was already barging in without consent.

Jim was sleeping with abandon, torqued into his usual sleeping manner, snoring lightly even. The normalcy of his quiescent state put my mind at ease. His skin was a bit flushed and I could see his ribcage rising and falling evenly. I didn't want to disturb him, but I needed to touch him, seeing was not enough. I walked to the edge of the bed and ran my fingers down his arms and tangled with his.

To my surprise, he shifted awake and I sighed contentedly. "Hey…"

"Hey…" He murmured, his voice hoarse and groggy.

I couldn't help the tear that slipped from the back of my eye. "You scared me."

He offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry." He then moved slowly to the side of the bed, making space for me. "C'mere." He said, patting the now emptied spot.

I looked between the size of the bed and the size of my belly. He immediately read my mind and added, "You'll fit."

I climbed in with great difficulty and settled half on the bed, half on his chest. He wrapped his arms as best as he could around me, making me feel safe and calm.

"How's the baby?"

"Alert and kicking," I chuckled.

He slipped his hand under my shirt and stroked the circumference of my belly. "Be nice to mommy, baby," he said. He then took a somber tone and gazed down at me. "How are you?"

"Better," I said. I could tell he was struggling to remain awake. The intervals between him closing and opening his eyelids were getting longer. "Go to sleep," I said.

"I will—am."

He reached for the thin blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped us in a cozy cocoon. We snuggled against each other and we both fell asleep—him with his hand still splayed across my belly, me with my legs intertwined in his.

I woke up hours later disoriented and unsettled. Outside the window I could see the cloudless sky, pink in the east, beginning to lighten to its blue morning shade. There was a hand on my shoulder and it took me a few seconds to recognize who it belonged too. It was Nurse Beth's. I had forgotten what it felt to wake up not knowing where I was, then gradually having reality set back in.

"Good morning," she said.

I sat up with much effort, pushing myself up with both hands. "Hi," I mumbled, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. I looked over to Jim and he was still asleep. Nurse Beth went around the bed and checked the monitors on Jim's side and jotted down some notes.

Before I could ask anything she said, "The doctor will be with you soon, dear." Her voice was small and sympathetic. Later I realized it was pity.

"'Kay, thanks."

I ran my fingers through my hair, taming my messy curls before I reluctantly untangled myself form Jim and sat on the chair next to the bed. His eyes opened, registered me, but closed; the medications knocking him out.

My stomach began to rumble, and I wanted more than anything to eat Jim's special omelet. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach roared, the more annoyed I got. I hoped the doctor would just tell us they were just overly cautious and that we could go home.

But that's not what he told us.

After Jim seemed more alert, the doctor took us to his office. It was a blank white room, lacking any personal touch. Alarms immediately began roaring in my head and my heart began beating in my ears. The events that followed have a dreamlike quality in my memories.

I remember the doctor sitting us down and explaining the reason for the sudden onset of Jim's headache. He told us it was because of a tumor lodge between his frontal and temporal brain lobes. He didn't actually call it a tumor; in his best medical jargon he referred to it as an abnormal cell mass.

My mind blanked—tortured by the unfairness. I became numb and didn't know how to react to the words the doctor continued to verbalize. Tears slowly unleashed from the back of my eyes darkening the spots they trickled on my sweater. Jim kept his expression stoic and his hand firmly clutched to mine, squeezing tightly. The baby kicked hard and I sobbed even harder.

All I could think was that I was going to lose my husband and best friend.

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TBC

Thanks for reading


	2. Chapter 2

Jim's POV

**EmilyHalpert** was the Beta-extraordinaire.

I still own nothing.

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_For some moments in life there are no words. _

I sleep all day, occasionally hearing everyday noises flit around the house—Pam walking up and down the stairs, garbage truck backing in the alley, rain rapping against the bedroom window. I try to force my eyes to remain open, but it's like a million razor-sharp insects are gnawing at my brain. It's unbearable. I breathe slowly and deeply, stilling my eyes under my eyelids, and will myself to remain under the medication surge.

In less than two weeks, my life has been reduced to this bed, this endless drug-laced slumber that fuses mornings, afternoons, and nights into one. Pam will often crawl into bed, wrapping herself around me as best as she can, but I'm too comatose to fully register her presence. I miss her, and I know she missed me too.

Things haven't been the same since I returned from the hospital. Pam and I don't talk much, and when we do talk, we argue. The doctor wants to do a biopsy of the tumor, but I just can't right now…. Our baby is due in just six weeks and the risks of the procedure outweigh the goods. Pam doesn't understand that and we have long, pointless discussions that usually go nowhere. I have to keep reminding myself that she's not angry with me, just scared.

I'm alert enough right now that I hear the front door open and close. I also hear Pam's footsteps climbing up the stairs towards our bedroom. Subsequently, the bedroom door slowly creaks open and I see her poke her head inside.

"Hey," I say hoarsely.

"Hi," she says and a smile breaks across her face. Though it quickly fades, it does me a world of good. I extend an arm to her and she shuffles towards me, kicks off her shoes, and climbs into bed. I catch the unmistakable whiff of her body spray—Bath and Body Work's Moonlight Path.

"How are you feeling today?" She asks, easing herself next to me.

"Tired," I say exhaling. I pull her as close as I can and plant a sloppy kiss on her forehead. I just want for a second to pretend that everything is okay, and that this is all a dream and her need to be walking on eggshells around me is just a figment of my imagination. "What time is it?"

"A little past five."

With one eye open, I gaze down at her. She looks tired—crushed even, and a bit fidgety, tracing lines up and down my chest, just touching me, like she wants to make sure I'm here.

"How was the doctor's appointment? Baby good?" I slowly catch one of her restless hands in mine and hold it over her belly. My head hurts. I try to ignore it.

"Yup, everything's good."

I sigh and let my body slouch over hers. I can feel the strain of her muscles under the tips of my fingers. I hate that she's feeling this way. I hate even more that I'm the cause of it.

"You didn't cave in and asked if it's a boy or girl, right?" I say, trying to keep our conversation light. She's dying to know, but I want to wait.

"No," she chuckles. "Not yet."

"Good," I say. Maybe I should let her have this one little thing that she can look forward too.

Pam snuggles her head further under my chin and after a stretch of uninterrupted silence, she says in her smallest voice, "I talked to Dr. Arsmani today…."

She lets the sentence linger and I inquire, "About what?"

She's silent—immobile. I shift so I can see her whole face and her expression is both, scared and pleadingly—it overwhelms me with worry. "Pam?" I say. "What did you talk to him about?" I know Pam and I hope to God that she's not about to tell me what I think she is. "Pam?"

"I asked to be induced."

I involuntarily jerk up and somehow land on my two feet. My ears buzz and I feel like I'm about to lose my balance. She can't…. No… she's not…. "No," I say shaking my head.

"Jim…" She moves to the edge of the bed and reaches for me, to comfort me, to comfort herself, but I can't. I grudgingly inch away.

"Jim, please… Listen—" She insists.

"No, Pam.… Don't," I say as she tries to grab a hold of my arm again.

"Jim—" Her face churns with something I've yet to see—resentment? Disappointment? Anger? She remains perched on the side of the bed, blinks a few times, and says through clenched teeth, "In three weeks."

I gasp. "How can you?" I'm frightened of where this might end. "You're choosing to put our child at risk over something so stupid."

Tears roll down her eyes. "You give me no option," she blurts out.

"And you think choosing to put our baby at risk is an option?" I try to keep the anger out of my voice. The pain continues to circulate inside my head.

"He said at 37 weeks the baby is safe," she counters and continues to sit there—her pain and desolation so rawly palpable on her face that I'm sudden struck with silence.

I dig my finger to the back of my neck and begin to pace around the room. From my periphery I can see her hands carefully slipping down to cradle her belly—the baby is agitated and kicking. I look into her hollow, glazed eyes and my heart breaks. I become dizzy and utterly weak, as if my spine went limp and nerveless. I lose all sense of balance and slide down to the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, lower my head, and sob.

I hear Pam carefully shuffling and lowering herself next to me. She leans her head against my arm and we both cry, both at a loss. I love her and I love this baby so much and the thought of something happening to either of them pains me—literally.

"Don't do it," I whisper.

She heaves a sigh, shaking her head. "I don't know what else to do, Jim." She grabs hold of my hand. "I'm not losing you."

"You won't," I reassure her.

She looks at me, biting her bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep her tears at bay. "I know you want to w-wait, but it m-might be too late."

"Pam," I begin, trying to keep myself together. "I want to see our baby's little face. I want to hold and feel it in my arms." I haven't told her this before and reality hits me as the words tumble from my mouth. "I-I want to be there, _there_. I can't even think about not seeing that little round face with your nose, or mouth, or your eyes…." Pam's eyes are glassy and she's clearly as broken as I am. I have to look away. "I can't leave now. I need to do this," I plea.

"Jim…" Pam says in a tear soaked voice. She cups my chin and pulls my face towards hers. I start to weep and I can't stop. My heart breaks at the thought of not being here for my family. Her face also crumbles and her lip quivers as she says, "Y-you will. You're not g-g-going anywhere."

I feel like throwing up, but I don't. I lean into her hand, feeling my head pounding and my eyelids going heavy. I'm tired—tired of crying, tired of watching Pam cry. Pam and the baby are more important than any of my selfish needs. If I have to choose between putting myself at risk or my child….

"Okay." …I'll put myself at risk. "I'll do it. But promise me you won't be induced."

"I won't."

She props herself on her knees, wiping back tears, and puts her hands around my neck and sobs. She then cups my face and kisses me like we haven't in a long time. I feel resolve coursing through her.

"I love you, you know that…" she says.

I nod. "I love you too."

"…We're gonna make it through this—together."

I nod again. She pulls my hand to her belly and immediately the baby kicks, as if sensing my presence.

She sits back down with her back to the wall and I lay my head on her lap—her belly's looming over my face, taunt and hot. She runs her fingers through my hair and after a beat she says, "We need names."

We schedule to see the doctor a few days later. He is both surprised and happy to know that I decided to finally do the biopsy. He plants one hand on the table, like a captain at the helm of a ship about to address the crew, and assures me it's for the best.

We sign consent papers and at one point I ask Pam if she can go get me some water. She nods and when she steps out I ask the doctor to go over the procedure, which I know he must. I just don't Pam to hear it—she doesn't need the added stress of knowing they will be drilling a hole through my skull and inserting a needle in my head. I know she knows, but hearing it, like I'm right now, makes it that more real.

Pam comes back minutes later, a little winded, with a water bottle in hand. "Sorry I took long. There isn't a single vending machine on this floor."

I knew that.

"It's okay, babe." I take the bottle and sip it. I'm not really thirst, though my throat feels like I just swallowed a bag of cotton balls.

The doctor gives me a list of 'what to do' before the procedure tomorrow and with a thankful nod we leave.

When we return home, things follow their usual routine—Pam cooks dinner, I pretend to eat (I can't keep much down), we sit in front of the TV, I pretend to watch. I try to keep awake and be there, present, but it's a lost battle. I surrender and doze off on her shoulder. At night we hold each other a bit tighter than we normally would.

I wake with Pam hovering over me, slowly pulling me away from the depths of my sleep. By the look of her face I can tell she hasn't slept at all. Her eyes are hollow with a tinge of red, but she smiles and says, "Time to wake up, Babe."

I groan inwardly.

She helps me get up and shower and I see she packed a duffle bag for me. It's next to the go-bag for when the baby comes.

"You feeling okay?" She asks as I stumble around the bedroom, looking for my baseball cap. "Need something?"

"Can't find my hat."

"It's downstairs," she says and takes my hand. "C'mon, we can't be late."

Just like that she drags me down and out to the car. She drives and I absently gaze out the window—the engine noise, the repetition of stop signs and streetlights makes me calm, anesthetize me, and after a while a kind of forget why we're driving.

When we arrive at the hospital, I begin to crumble by the seam. It's an icy, gray day. The trees in front of the hospital have lost their foliage, and the dead leaves rustle across the lawn. I'm a bit scared of the outcome. I try to deflect the plaguing thoughts, but I can't. Pam doesn't seem worried, just hopeful. As if hope alone would make this all right.

We go right past the reception area and to the surgical wing. The corridors seem empty, save the occasional nurses walking about. We meet the doctor in his blank office, for what I think is a last minute pep talk. He ends with an unbefitting enthusiastic smile and says, "Alright, Let's get you prepped."

I get up and start to walk out, but Pam immediately reaches for my hand. She eyes me and I can see her enthusiasm visibly draining out through her keds—worry just setting in. I love her more than anything in this world and her strength is what's carrying me right now. She can't fall apart…

"I'll see you soon," I reassure her. I have to be strong for her right now. She's gotten me here; I need to get us through this now. "It will only take a couple of hours."

She nods, biting her quivering bottom lip. I pull her for a long lingering kiss. I don't care who's watching. I hug her tight, just holding, holding, holding, refusing to let go. I lower my lips down to her round belly and kiss there too. We reluctantly part; our fingers slowly detangle as I follow the nurses waiting for me.

I change into the hospital gown and they partially shave a section of my head. They poke me with IV's and needles and stick pads on my chest and head. They walk me to this really cold room and they have me sit on the funky looking chair with a metal head support.

The doctor walks in moments later all dressed, masked, and with his hands clad with latex gloves. I see other nurses and doctors enter the room and suddenly I feel claustrophobic. Walls of blue-clothed people close in around me and I think that this is it.

The anesthesiologist introduces himself and tells me to count down from 10.

"Ten…nine…"

My vision gets blurry and I can no longer feel the constant pounding headache.

"Eight…..seven…"

My attention is wandering and I see my mom, tending the garden by the big oak tree in our backyard. She wearing that big sun hat we tease her about.

"S-six….fiv—"

I see Pam and I at home, watching television—nothing unusual, just us, being us. She has her bare feet propped on the coffee table and I have my head on her lap, her belly clad against my cheek—my favorite place to be.

"F-fouh,…."

I see more of Pam and then black, "Thr…"

Void—then nothing.

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Thanks for reading


	3. Chapter 3

This was a bit harder to write. I hope you guys are still with me.

**EmilyHalpert**-You=awesomepie!

I own nothing.

* * *

Our fingers untangle and I watch his lanky form being ushered down the long white-tiled corridor. I restrain the tears that burn the back of my eyes and only let them escape and freely tumble down my cheeks when Jim rounds the corner and exits through a set of double doors. There's a sense of relief that he's finally doing the biopsy, along with worry about the outcome.

I'm past thinking how this whole situation is unfair. I'm past trying to bargain alternative endings with God. Being pregnant has been a real lesson in taking every day as it comes. I don't know what's coming next. I have no control over it, and I'm just sort of flowing right now.

That being said, I'm unpleasantly tired and the little one in me is insistent in stretching its tiny limbs under my ribs. I debate on whether to linger in the waiting room or go for a walk. I opt for the latter; the former—white walls, nurses, fluorescent lights—will drive my hormonal state into insanity.

I venture outside and it's a chilly, bright morning. The cool breeze toys with my hair as I stroll along the sidewalk. I stare into the empty space around me and stillness lies over everything. I walk past a tall glass window and my reflection shows me all bleak and puffy—no pregnancy glow visible. Have I lost it?

I find a desolate bench on the outskirts of the hospital's courtyard and park myself there. I close my eyes, shiver and pull my coat closer—the world slows down.

I think back to a particular night months ago when morning sickness was a faithful companion and nothing I ate agreed with the little bean taking root in me. I remember lying in bed, queasy and unsettled, when I heard Jim singing. I couldn't quiet decipher what he crooned until he poked his head inside the bedroom door with a platter in hand.

_"And you can tell everybody this is your song…" _

I groaned inwardly and buried my face further into the pillow. Jim's a lot of things—sweet, kind, funny—but not a good Elton John impersonator.

He placed the platter on the nightstand and settled against me—his tall frame engulfing me completely. I turned, opened one eye and gazed up at him. He offered an easy, apologetic grin and whispered, _"It may be quite simple but now that it's done..." _

That earned him a smile.

"Baby's being difficult, huh?" He said and heaved a heavy, phony sigh. "Already taking after his mother," he added as an afterthought. With the little strength I still had in me I socked him on the stomach. He couldn't deny he deserved that one.

"Owwww…" He said, nursing his abdomen as he reached for the platter. "I brought saltines and ginger ale, Rocky."

"Thanks. Ginger ale. Not really up for chewing right now," I said.

He helped me sit up against the headboard and handed me a cup. I rewarded him with an appreciative smile and he settled next to me. "Are you sure you don't want saltines?"

"Ehhh…..No, maybe later," I said, taking another sip.

He smiled up at me and splayed his hand on my belly, his fingertips rubbing slightly against the fabric of my shirt as he resumed singing in his sweetest and most tender voice, _"I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind that I put down in words. How wonderful life is while you're in the world." _

I remember leaning my head back, smiling at the first glimpse of Jim as a dad—so warm, so present. I need him to be okay. I can't do this alone. I've been optimistic and confident about the outcome of today, but what if I've been disillusioned? I feel my throat tighten as I watch a young boy reach for his father's hand as they stroll down the sidewalk. Maybe our little one will only know stories like this about his or her dad.

The sky clouds over and a cold breeze whips around me. I'm wearing a rather heavy coat, and though I imagined it would be thick enough to keep the chill at bay, I notice my hands tremble as I bury them in my pockets. Reluctant, I return inside.

I resign myself to the waiting room—the sparseness of it makes this whole thing depressing. I study the posters on the wall, the outdated magazines strewn about, anything but thinking about what could happen. It's been almost two hours. A nurse should come out any minute now and say Jim is fine.

After twenty long minutes, a nurse finally comes out, calls, "Mrs. Halpert," and does just that. She doesn't look at me as she speaks. There's no emotion or tinge of interest in her voice. I nod and ask if I could see him, she nods in return and I follow her in silence.

When I finally reach Jim's recovery ICU room, I gasp when I see him. He looks like a young boy. He's lost a lot weight and is all arms and legs. I hadn't realized the toll this tumor was taking on him. It's hard to see him so weak, so breakable. It's still a waiting game, though, the doctor warns me. Until Jim wakes up, we can't really know if anything unexpected happened.

I pull a chair closer and take a seat by the bed. I grip his hand, carefully, feeling how warm and dry it is, how his pulse beats in the wrist, how tangible Jim's hand is in my hand. The baby flutters and I realize a little piece of him is inside me.

I wait for longer than I can remember and eventually end up dozing off. When I stir up again I feel rested and it takes a few seconds to find myself as I float on the surface of waking. I look around and Jim's still motionless and asleep. A blond nurse enters the small room, takes his temperature and pulse. Jim's eyes flicker open. He registers me and tries to say something, sounds like my name. Expectantly, I look at the nurse.

"He seems to be slowly regaining conscious," she pipes up. I can't say anything. _Thank you, God_, is all I think. "His temperature is a little high," she adds. "It's not uncommon."

I stand up, running my hand over Jim's. His eyes close. The nurse smiles and gives Jim an injection. The drug courses his veins and his body slowly unwinds. I push the hair from his forehead and kiss him there. He's warm and sweat beads above his upper lip.

"We're here, Babe."

Thirteen hours later, Jim finally regains full consciousness. I almost leap out of my chair when he stirs and simply says, "Water." The IV machine beeps and the baby, sensing my excitement, flutters impatiently as I breathe a sigh of relief._ We're okay, we're okay._

Two days later we receive the results of the biopsy. Tumor: benign, grade two, but may continue to grow to some extent. The doctor tells us that the tumor may invade surrounding normal tissue, and can recur as a grade three or higher. Therefore, before a complete surgical extraction, he advises Jim to go through rounds of radiation therapy to shrink the size and ease the accessibility to the tumor.

A week later the radiation nightmare started.

We'd read the various educational leaflets and in theory we understood what was coming, but the reality of it took us by surprise. The constant nausea and exhaustion, vomiting and burning sensations, the sporadic, but severe headaches—it all hit us like an eighteen wheeler. Jim couldn't eat, walk, sleep—he wasn't himself.

I held on, urging him on. And there were days when it seemed easier to just throw in the towel. But the baby would kick and nudge and we would be reminded that all this were tiny matters compared to what was before us. This baby became our sole reason for living. This thought made me wonder if this baby was happenstance after all.

But three torturous weeks later, the first round of radiation treatments finally came to an end. I said a silent prayer as Jim slowly regained himself back. I saw an improvement in his overall mood almost immediately. Aaaand because life never fails to happen, I went into labor the following week.

After nineteen long hours our little miss sunshine came into the world all pink and perfect. Cecelia Marie Halpert is this small little thing, with tiny ears, a pouty mouth, two big eyes, and a bit of hair. She's just so delicate and we just want to hold her and shelter her from this world. She's this glimpse of hope we've been holding on too for the last eight weeks.

Jim's in another world—he's in love all over again. We brought her home today, it's rainy and he just cradles her, watching the rain rap against the living room window. I'm sure his counting and re-counting all her tiny fingers and toes, or just watching her sleep.

It's the day after and I get up from a well-deserved nap and carefully walk down the stairs and through the hall, slowly. My breasts hurt. My you-know-what hurts. Everything hurts. Jim is on the couch with Cecelia. After staring at the two of them for a moment, I take a seat next to him and he puts his arm around me.

He kisses the top of my head and says, "Did you have a good nap?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning my head on his shoulders. I run my finger over my babe's little tummy and she shifts lazily in his arms. "What have you two been up too?"

He smiles and fixes his baseball cap. "You know… We've had a couples massage, a tanning session... We were planning on getting matching tattoos…"

I smile.

"…And later I was thinking of bringing back my famous grill cheese sandwich."

"Really?" He hasn't made them in so long, and I don't know how he does it but… It's pretty amazing.

He nods and says, "Really."

I haven't felt quite this peaceful in a long time. Before Cecelia's arrival it was like our lives were temporarily off track, but now it seems that it will soon right itself again, so for now there's no reason to get too worked up about anything. _Carpe Diem,_ right?

We don't move for the next hour or so, watching the sunlight slowly inch away and the living room becomes washed with the orange tint from the streetlights outside. Cece eventually wakes up and Jim hands her to me. I unbutton my shirt and she is now quick to latch on. My nipples also hurt.

Jim gets up and in a minute I can hear and smell him making grill cheese sandwiches. The aroma fills the room and it's so comforting to finally get a whiff of the tomato soup boiling. If our little one grows up and all she thinks we eat is grilled cheese sandwiches, that's okay. There are worse things right?

Jim comes back with a tray with two grilled sandwiches, two bowls of soup and two cups of milk. He does this whole French waiter routine thing where he lowers the tray and pulls the napkins he so tactfully folded over his arms, and places on my lap. He then spins on his heels and pulls Cece's burp cloth from somewhere behind him and drapes it over my shoulder.

I miss this, I miss us…. This is the best he's been—we've been, since the biopsy. He's been able to keep his food down and has been sleeping more, even with Cece's arrival. I'm dreading the thought of him resuming the radiation therapy in a couple of weeks.

After the little show, Jim stops and says, "And for the finish…" as he reaches for something in his back pocket, I think? He pulls out the graded cheese and sprinkles on the soup. Perfect!

I clap and he takes a bow. "This looks really good, Babe."

"Why, thank you," he says and takes a seat next to me.

Cecelia finishes nursing and I burp her before satisfying my own appetite. Jim takes her while I dig into the sandwich like I haven't eaten in days. I also watch him and he eats slowly, but eats nonetheless. He's more interested in watching Cece blow milk bubbles as she slips into slumber—can't blame him.

"She's so great, ya know?" He tells me never averting his gaze from our little one.

"Yeah, we did good Halpert," I say with my mouth full.

"I think she'll look like you."

"Yeah?"

He ponders for a bit and says, "You know, the curly hair, the nose…"

Two can play at this game. "Except she'll have your hair (Cross my fingers) and your eyes…"

"She's going to be great," he muses.

"Yeah…."

I finish eating and settle against Jim. He's so warm. He has one arm holding Cecelia and another snaked around my shoulders.

"Are you going to be able to handle her in two weeks?" He asks. His voice more somber.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll start radiation again. You should ask your mom to stay over for a little while, or even Penny."

I can see he's thought about this. "Maybe, but I think we'll be okay," I offer. I don't really want anyone intruding our little bubble.

"Yeah, maybe," he sighs and pulls me a little closer. His fingers trace lines up and down my arms. "I just want to make sure you won't be too overwhelmed."

He's determined about this. "Okay, if I am, I'll call my mom, deal?" I just want to diverge our conversation elsewhere. I'm afraid as to where it may lead.

"Deal." He retracts his arm from around my shoulders and stands up. He shifts Cecelia so she's this little ball nestled under his chin and extends an arm to me. "Bedtime," he says.

"Bedtime," I repeat.

We ascend to our bedroom and he lays Cece in the basinet adjacent to our bed. We both ease ourselves under the covers and snuggle for warmth. This feels good—our little family, dad, mom, and baby. If only it could remain like that.

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Feedback is always good! C'mon, let it rip!


	4. Chapter 4

**EmilyHalpert** helped with EVERYTHING!

I own nothing

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Two weeks after Cece is born, I begin the second round of radiation treatment. The drug cocktail that follows every session leaves me completely numb, unfeeling—lifeless. I am utterly exhausted and my eyelids open and shut against my will. The only good to come out of this is that Cece also spends over seventy percent of the day asleep. You can usually find us in the confines of my bedroom slumbering the day away.

And Pam? There are no words to describe her. There's this quiet strength in her that's so palpable, I feel it too. It's what propels me daily, never letting a bad day overcome me. And the mother in her? Incredible. She's the most amazing parent Cecelia could ever have. She's a natural, so attentive and loving and my heart swells seeing this side of her blossom.

It's late one afternoon and I'm awakened by my stomach twisting and churning. By now I know way too well how this will end. Cece is sprawled over my chest. She's warm and limp. I try to prop myself up, but can't. I need to at least move her to the bed. I place both my hands under Cece's tiny arms and attempt to lift her, but she feels very heavy. There's no way I'll be able to safely move her onto the bed.

"Pam," I call, but not loud enough. Two weeks of being a dad have taught me you never wake a sleeping baby. Because trust me, you never wake a sleeping baby.

"Pam," I call again, slightly louder.

This time she answers, "Yeah?" from somewhere downstairs.

My stomach continues to stir and I begin feeling the familiar burning sensation ascend my throat. I begin to panic.

"COME…" I blurt out.

I hear her footsteps quicken their pace up the stairs, but when she finally appears in the doorway, it's too late. I turn to the side, shelter Cecelia with my hands, and whatever I'd managed to keep down spills onto the pillow and oozes onto the comforter. When I stop heaving I feel like crap

Pam sighs, bites her bottom lip, tacitly, but I hear a lot from her silence. Cecelia stirs on my chest and begins to whimper. I gaze down at her little form and she's fine, the noise and movement woke her up from her slumber.

"I'm sorry… Daddy's sorry." I try to soothe her, rubbing circles on her back.

Pam walks up to us and lifts Cece off my chest and I immediately miss her warm weight on me.

"Shhh, S'okay…" Pam says to our whimpering baby and places her in the basinet. She walks back to me and helps me sit up. Meanwhile Cecelia's cries begin to increase in intensity.

"Hey umm…. Go get her," I say, motioning to the basinet. My heartstrings pull tighter with every shriek Cece makes. "I'm fine now."

"She's okay. Just…" She says, her voice with a tinge of annoyance. She pulls the seam of my shirt carefully up. "Let's get you to the bathroom first."

Cece's shrieks pierce the air in quick repetition and I blame myself for it.

"No…" I say shooing her hand away. "I can manage from here. Just… get her…"

Pam hands fall to her sides and she shuffles to the basinet and lifts our now, red-face, grief-stricken babe out of the basinet. She rocks Cece in place while I begin slowly pulling my own shirt and shorts off. I feel completely gross and I just need a shower right now. I keep an eye on them, though, until Cece's cries subside to soft moans and she begins rooting around Pam's shirt.

"You hungry, baby girl?" Pam asks in her sweetest voice and looks at me, "You good?"

"Yeah," I say, but it's furthest from the truth. I feel as if someone pulled my internal strings and lacerated every organ in my body.

But I carry on with striping down until I'm only in my underwear. The repulsive acidic smell from whatever I just purged over the pillow and sheets begins to fill the air. I take the pillow out of its case and add it to the small heap of clothes I discarded to the floor. I begin pulling off the bed sheets as well, but Pam stops me.

"I got it, Babe" she says juggling Cecelia while tugging the sheet off my hands. "Go on… go shower." She offers me a crooked smile and pats my bottom. "I was going to change them anyways."

I sigh, turn on my heels and pad to the bathroom, suppressing a savage urge to push my fist through the wall. I turn on the water so that it's so hot to the point I almost can't stand, but it feels good. I breathe the steamy air and relax my body under the scorching water. This is what my life has become. I'm almost as helpless as a child. I bet Pam didn't count of having two kids to take care of. For the millionth time, I wish things were different.

When my skin is crimson red and pruny, I gingerly dry myself, put on sweatpants and a sweater. I shuffle down the hall and find Pam in the nursery, changing Cece, who's covered in her own spit up. She sees me in the doorway and says that Cece also spilled her lunch. I smile. Pam always knows the right things to say.

"Sorry about…earlier," I offer. Even though she's seen me do _that_ before, it's still embarrassing. She smiles kindly, as if saying, _'it's okay.'_

I walk over to her, where she's undressing Cece and wrap my arms around her. She leans into me somewhat, but I know she's restraining herself. I feel her muscles tense under my fingertips. I kiss the top of her head and tug at the diaper she's holding. "Here, let me do it." I know my way around a diaper.

"You sure?"

I know it's just a question, but it stings a bit. When it comes for me to do anything nowadays it's always, 'You sure?' or 'Be careful,' or even, 'It's fine, I got it.' I'd be the first to admit I'm useless most of the time, but sometimes I just want it to be normal. A normal dad changing his daughter's diaper. I know Pam is just trying to help, but the questions are a bit wearing on the nerves.

"Yes," I say curtly.

She picks up on terseness of my response and says, "Just asking, Babe," and moves to the closet.

I'm an asshole.

"Sorry, it's just that—"

"I know," she says desolately and places an onsie and tiny polka-dotted socks on the side of the changer, "Dress her in this."

"Kay," I say, downcast.

Similar incidents happen until the second radiation session and its extreme side effects come to an end. I've learned that I don't live, but vegetate during those awful weeks. It's like I'm watching the movie of my life roll on a 3D screen. I feel like I'm part of it, but if I try to touch the important objects in my life my hand goes right through them.

The doctor begins talking about surgery and removing the tumor. I freeze. My heart tightens. I knew this day would come and I know it's something that has to be done. But now that it's here…It's just… hard to let _things_ go. He puts everything on the table, asserting that it is my sole option. Therefore, I must dive in head first—'no pun intended,' he says. My only request was that he schedules the surgery a month from now—a month that is to be radiation free. (I also asked that he not mentioned it to Pam. Surely she would think otherwise).

We shake hands and I have one month.

It takes me a week to regain myself completely back. I now feel present, of substance—flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—overall, alive.

I need to make the most out of my time with my girls, but I also have to make sure they are taken care of if the worse happens. I don't want Pam to worry about mortgage payments and bills or college tuition. So, I double check our insurance policy, increase the premium and do other, more dismal errands that I don't want Pam to think about it _after_.

I also write my will, which Pam finds a week a later. It was hidden away from her view, away from anything she might touch. I guess I should've known better.

I'm giving Cece a bath and she's squirming, kicking her legs and flailing her arms. I support her head and turn her on her belly, holding her very carefully, while pouring soapy water down her back. She's very good about the whole process of me turning and moving and rubbing her clean.

When I finally envelop Cece in the bunny towel and turn to leave the bathroom, I see Pam, motionless, eyes glazed and red. I immediately swallow dry and my first instinct is to ask her what's wrong, if she's okay. But without speaking, she lays folded pieces of the will in front of me and I'm lost and for a moment there is an eerie quiet.

I stand transfixed, unable to move. She gives me a searching glance and there's a tear in the corner of her eye. It hurts to think that she's read it because I know what this implies to her. She just…. She shouldn't have. I pull Cece protectively to my chest and enclose her bare, little feet in my hand.

There's no way around this.

"It's just a precaution," I try explaining. "It's nothing…"

Pam bites her bottom lip and her expression is so broken that I can't read her. Is she angry? Mad? Sad? I can't tell. She still doesn't say anything, but squeezes her eyes shut and tears roll down her cheeks. Her body shudders and she begins to sob. It's too much for me to take. My hearts breaks.

"Pam… C'mere," I say extending her a hand. She doesn't move.

Instead she peers up at me and says in a tears soaked voice, "You're giving up?"

"No… Pam…It's just.." I stretch a hand in her direction, but she doesn't take it. I try to tell her that I was just being overly cautious and wanted to make sure she would be okay if anything happened to me.

She asks me, "What else you being 'overly cautious' with?" as though my thoughts have alerted her. Defenseless, I tell her everything, the life insurance, Cece's college fund, and all the other covert planning I've been doing.

At one point she can't handle it. She turns on her heels and marches somewhere upstairs. Why can't she see that I might not be okay and just understand that all I do is with their best interest at heart? I'm not giving up. How could I? How could I leave my best friend and soulmate? Or this little one, who I'm so in love with?

Silence spreads and I go into the nursery to dress and diaper Cecelia, who's been quiet through all this, and begin to cry myself. This is supposed to be the happiest moment of our lives. We have each other and now we have Cecelia. She's healthy and beautiful. Why does it have to be so hard?

I hold Cece tightly against me and go find Pam. I can't just ignore what just happened. I'm a fixer. I find Pam curled on our bed, clutching tightly to a throw pillow. I lay Cecelia in the bassinet and lay next to her. She doesn't move.

"Pam… I just want to make sure you're taken care of…" I let my hand trace lines along her arm. "I was just thinking—"

"I know," she interrupts and I'm stumped. I had planned on explaining and reminding her how much I love her and how I've been fighting through the radiation and the medications, the headaches, the nausea….How I've been doing it all for her, for them because they are all I've got.

She's silent again, so I pull her so we're facing each other. I look at her, listening to her, and yet realizing I am listening to something within myself and for a second I hear the shattering stroke of my heart. I pull her to me and she unwinds a bit, but is still hesitant. I just hold her, loving her the best way I know how.

She clutches tightly to my shirt and traces the checkered patterns on it. I regard her miserably, like a child, naive and vulnerable. "Jim," she says in her smallest and most fragile voice. "I can't do it alone."

My heart tightens another notch inside my chest. Everything seems to be slipping away from me and I can't find any quick absorbing action that will get it under control. "Pam, you… you can… you've been so strong…. You've…. You've been my rock…"

"You can't go, you just…. Can't. Cece needs you, I need you."

"Pam," I cup her chin and lift her face so she's looking directly into my eyes. "I'm not giving up. I love you and I want to be here, but just let me do this for you, for Cece.? Just…. Please? We have to be prepared. What if I'm in the hospital for a long time? I need to make sure you'll be good, okay?"

She nods and we melt into each other. She sobs into my shirt and my own tears escape and roll down my cheek. "I just want you to be okay." I whisper and she nods again.

She knows.

The following day when she finds a list of things I need to do before the surgery, like write milestone letters to Cece, she writes her own list and leaves on the bathroom mirror while I shower.__

Things to do after the surgery:

1. Take Cece to the Zoo  
2. Get matching tattoos  
3. Watch bad television  
4. Prank Dwight  
5. See the Pacific Ocean 

But he last one catches me by surprise. __

6. Grow old together. 

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Thanks for reading! Let me know if you guys are still with me! :)

-D


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, I'm so, sorry for the wait. This chapter was REALLY hard to write for a number of reasons. This topic is just hard to write, period. I know it might not be people's cup of tea, but just stay with me a little longer, kay? Thanks!

**EmilyHalpert** has been just amazing throughout this rollercoaster ride.

* * *

I can't say that I was completely shocked when I found Jim's will tucked away in his tool drawer. He'd been acting guarded and secretive since the end of his last radiation session. Things like minimizing the computer window when I entered the room, always eager to check the mail before I did, and talking on the phone behind closed doors …. It was all very uncharacteristic of him.

So, when I found the manila envelope sealed with an official stamp, my suspicions were confirmed. Something inside of me died.

I confronted him. Jim never denied me anything. He came clean, told me everything, and it was too much for me to handle.

You name the emotion, I felt it. Anger, sadness, fury... I just didn't know what to feel. I just kept thinking of him not…being here. And that made my stomach churn, my skin crawl, my head spin. I can't live without him and his love for Cece …. God Cece, she loves him so much. I might have her in my arms, but its Jim's pinky she has her tiny fingers curled around.

After the hurt subsided, I began to see his side, it's blurry and fuzzy, but I see it. He's being Jim. He is just taking care of his family because that's what he does, even if it breaks him, he will always take care of me and Cece, and I know accepting this as his fate kills him.

Well, I take every day as it comes now. Twenty-four hours, too many minutes, an infinity of seconds. Time, time, time—a dressmaker specializing in alteration. I sound like my mother.

This past month, though, has been… great. It's like we are us again—before this whole thing happened. Us when we moved into the house, when we got married, when we found out about Cece. Us before the possibility of losing him clouded my mind.

I think that's why this month also flew by. We were too happy, too peaceful. Looking back it felt like one long, hazy summer day. We've managed to keep our trepidation at bay and truly cherish the time we have together. But as the days trickled away, our barricades slowly collapsed and before we knew it, his operation was around the corner, staring at us, mocking us into despair.

The day before the surgery I come home from work early to find the house dark, save for a soft flicker of light shimmering through the living room window. I key inside and am completely engulfed by the wonderful aroma of food cooking. I follow the delicious smell and a smile tugs the corners of my lips.

I round the corner to the patio and I see Jim seating on our wicker love seat cradling Cece in his arms. He is completely unaware of my presence and my eyes fixate on the scene before me. Jim has Cece all bundled up. She looks like Kenny from South Park.

She's wide awake and her big green eyes gaze up at him in wonder. He makes nonsensical sounds, trying to steal a quick smile from her, but she just stares. When she does smile and waves her clenched fists in the air, he showers her with kisses. She gurgles in response and that beautiful grin of his makes an appearance.

I'm so spellbound by my husband and daughter that my purse slides from my shoulder and falls to the floor with a thump.

Jim quickly whips his head around, startled. "What the—Hey…" He immediately gets up from the chair and walks towards me. "You're home early." He gives me a quick kiss and adds, "How long have you been standing here?"

"I um... Just got here," I say and reach for Cece. Jim lowers our little pink bundle to me and her little eyes lock with mine. "Hi, baby girl. You missed me? I missed you." I squeeze her and hold her really close. "So," I say sniffing my way further into the patio. "What's all this I smell?"

Jim walks in front of me and blocks my view. "You're not supposed to be here…Why you home early?"

I try to push my way so I can see what he obviously has on the grill, but he holds me back.

"Let me just—" I say, trying to squeeze by.

"It's a surprise." He kisses my forehead and says, "Go wash up and I'll have everything ready when you come down."

"Okay…" I say warily, but not before I try to stretch my neck one last time to see what he's fussing about, but it's a lost cause.

I go upstairs, lay Cece on our bed, and un-bundle her. She flutters her little legs and arms freely in the air—just so happy to be here. She's looking more and more like Jim as the days go by.

I forget all about why I came up here and just stare at her, kissing her, tickling her impossibly chubby feet. She gurgles and Jim's smile adorns her face. It is then that I realize it might be just the two of us for a while.

I cry.

I pull myself together and shake those thoughts out of my mind. Jim's not gone. He's here. And today is a day for good thoughts.

I go downstairs and the smell of steak sizzling on the grill engulfs me. I go to the patio and I'm wordless with the scene before me. There are roses on our little patio table and plates and folded napkins and little Christmas lights dangling everywhere and everything is just so perfect.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and when I turn he says, "I have steak and potatoes on the grill. And I have this," he says pulling a bottle of sparkly from behind him.

Cece's attention turns to Jim at the sound of his voice like flowers turning to the sun. I have no words. I stand there, looking at the twinkling lights for a minute, but it is one of the longest minute of my life. Seconds goes by each separated from the next by an eternity and I just want to stay here, trapped in this moment forever.

I put on a smile and Jim reciprocates the gesture. To an outsider, he looks happy. But I know all the subtle nuances of his face, I know each and every twitch and flicker that ever rippled across it. And I can clearly see all kinds of sad. I have no doubt he can see the same in mine.

I silently realize this is his way of saying goodbye.

Jim sees right through me and puts his hands on top of mine, on top of our baby. A smile tugs the corner of his lips. He tilts his head knowingly and I hear his words echoing in my head, _"Just let me do this, for you, for Cece, please?"_

There's so much I want to say to him, but the words vaporize on my tongue. The knot that I'd suppressed this past month has wound a notch tighter. Our eyes meet and I break just a little. I feel his arms circling tightly around my waist. Cece squirms between us.

He pulls back and wipes my pesky tears with the pad of his thumbs. I ignore the glassy look of his eyes.

"You hungry?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah," I say.

I lay Cece on her bouncy seat and watch her extend her little arms to grab the mobile. I'm glad she doesn't understand what today could be. But she'll always know how amazing her dad is, how he's loved her before she was born, and even before she was conceived. Jim has always loved Cecelia.

We pretend to eat, fmoving our food from one end of the plate to the other. We can't stomach anything right now. But we pick at the food anyways and in no certain terms we let the other know we're full.

We clear the table, mostly in silence, but enough is heard between us. After everything is put away, Jim lifts our now slumbering babe from her seat and we settle on the wicker love seat. It's a clear night and a cool breeze wisps pasts us. We cuddle closer.

"She's getting big really fast," he says, though I'm not so sure that's what is really on his mind. But I go with it. It's better than facing the alternative.

"I know. She's getting chubby."

"We gotta enroll her in a baby gym. Do you think they have those?" Jim plants a gentle kiss on her head and adds, "Perhaps more fruits and veggies and less milk." He traces the baby folds under her neck.

I chuckle and lay my head on his shoulder. Our ability to joke provides a slim but vital margin between sanity and some sort of nervous breakdown.

The small patio washes in silence, but not for long. Jim clears his throat and utters words I've been dreading all night.

"Pam, I need to tell you something."

As the words tumble out of his mouth, I begin to feel the burning sensation arise in the back of my eyes and his tone spikes a fright, a degree closer to panic inside me. I know exactly what he's about to say.

"Jim, just-"

"No, I need you to listen to me."

I swallow, forcing the knot down my throat. My heart beats so hard and so fast I think it will tear itself right clear of my chest.

"If things don't go as planned tomorrow-"

"Jim, please..." I protest.

"Just listen, kay? I don't want you to be scared. If I it happens, just know that I—" his voice, previously cool, guarded, breaks and tears escape from the back of my eyes, "Just know that I love you and Cece and... Pam, I haven't given up. I promise, but... Hey..."

I'm openly sobbing on his shirt, clutching his arm, fearing if I let go he will too.

He kisses the top of my head, pulls me closer and continues. "I've asked Pete to take care of everything. You won't need to worry about anything after."

I don't respond. I...can't. I want to yell, but my lips don't move. I can feel them—and my tongue, lying on the floor of my mouth, stunned—but I can't move my lips.

"I made a care package for Cece. I know you found the letters and all..." He releases a tear soaked breath and looks down at me... "I want her to know how much I love her, you know?" he says and nuzzles Cecelia's neck. "I love her so much."

I nod. That's all I will myself to do. This sort of pain is just short of excruciating. I'm afraid if I say or move I will collapse in a puddle of despair.

"And Pam," he turns his head completely towards me. "You've been the one from the very beginning. I knew right away. And..." Tears slowly roll down his cheek. "I want more than anything for you to be happy... I want you-"

Before he can finish, I silence him with my trembling lips. "Don't say it." I whisper around his lips. We kiss agonizingly slow. "It's always been you, always. Just you. It will always be you."

We remain, holding one another for a while. No need for words. What is there to say?

Later, we put Cece to bed and for the first time, in longer than we both care to remember, we make love-unhurriedly, desperately, too intimate for words.

After, we lay pressed against each other. I remember when we used to lay forehead to forehead, sharing afterglow kisses and whispering with our eyes drifted close. Less than a year ago we whispered about tiny curled toes, first smiles, first words, first steps. And now we lay in the dark night thinking of our lasts.

I let sleep come and take me. I dream of things I'm too scared to remember and I wake up in cold sweat later. I inch closer to Jim and lay my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and I think, _Don't leave me, please don't leave me_.

* * *

Thanks for reading! So, let me know if I should throw myself off a cliff and end all this angst.


	6. Chapter 6

Here is the latest installment of this fic. Only and epilogue left. luvs...

**EmilyHalpert** and **Vampiric Blood** were my awesome Betas.

What do I own? Nothing. Damn you Ricky Gervais and your funny, addictive show!

* * *

_Really said too much  
Afraid it wouldn't be enough,  
Just try to keep my spirits up  
When there's no point in grieving. _

It's been ten days since Jim last opened his eyes. Ten days since he last told me that he loved me. Ten long days of waiting, waiting, and waiting. Familiar faces poke through the haze of Jim's hospital room, linger, and fade away. They peer down, ask me questions. They all ask questions. How're you holding up? How's Cece doing? I'm exhausted and emotionally fatigued. I want to tell them this but talking hurts.

There isn't much hope, I'm told. They also tell me a full recovery isn't very likely. The doctors talk hurriedly and use words I don't understand. I think on day five they actually used the term 'vegetable.' But, there were some brainwaves on day six, so…no vegetable yet. They also said there were muscle movements on day seven, but were deemed involuntary reflexes on day eight.

Every story has an end, right?

Jim is immobile and, aside from the beeps of the various machines keeping him here, stillness lies over his white ICU room. I always pay close attention to the EKG monitor: the waves, the intervals, watching it every time it spikes up and down, up and down. I imagine his heart contracting and relaxing, blood pumping through his arteries and veins, carrying oxygen to his organs, his brain…fighting to keep everything nourished, fighting to keep him alive.

After the surgery, the doctor came out and told me the tumor was removed, but there were complications. Because of where the tumor was lodged, there was significant bleeding, but that was not his team's major concern. He said there was a lot of fluid buildup, brain swelling, and it was putting pressure on Jim's cranial walls.

At first, he said some swelling is expected. They induced a coma and waited for Jim's intracranial pressure to drop. It never did. It increased. So they did a hemicraniectomy, and removed a part of his skull to allow his brain to expand beyond its confinement. It worked and the pressure dropped beautifully. Everyone was very hopeful then.

But Jim didn't get better. On day six he entered a critical vegetative state. The doctor assumed he suffered brain damage following the surgery. "His brain was deprived of oxygen due to the extensive swelling," he told me, visibly disconcerted. "The damage is greater than he can sustain." I asked if there was any chance of him having a full recovery. He said, "Not likely," like he was chewing on a rock.

I remember stepping into the small bathroom in Jim's room and just wanting to scream. I imagined screaming until I thought my throat would rip and my chest exploded. I wanted relief from the agony I felt. Later, a nurse asked if I heard screaming coming from this end of the hallway.

On day nine, my mom said I should go home and stay there for a little while and clear my head. She said seeing Jim with all the tubes and wires wasn't healthy. She also said I wouldn't want that image of him engraved in my head. I kept fading in and out of our conversation, but anger awakened me when she told me to _ let go._ I closed my eyes and my nose filled with the smell of rubbing alcohol and I just wanted to tear away from this place, this reality, and melt someplace far.

Now, it's almost day eleven and I'm still here. Jim's brothers have left and when Betsy leaves she begins to say something, but her voice cracks. She closes her mouth, opens it, and closes it again. There are no words. The sun has set, and the sky swathes in smothers of purple and red. I'm ten times undone, and hope, and fear, and sorrow, and rage and love rise up at once. Every attempt to divert these emotions only aggravates them.

I've been insisting on bringing Cece here so he can hear her and touch her, but the ICU staff won't allow it. They say it's dangerous for the patients, especially Jim, since the smallest infection can be detrimental to his already delicate state. I comply, but I think if he just hears her, he will come back to us.

Out of pure exhaustion, I decide to head home for the night and perhaps take my mom's advice and stay there. But I know when I get home I'll see all the empty spaces Jim has left behind and the pain will be worse than seeing him at the hospital. I know I'll wake up and reach for him at night.

When I arrive home, I find Penny rocking a screaming Cecelia in her arms. She's been colicky for a few days now and the switch to formula (I'm not producing enough milk) hasn't been easy on her. I lift my grief-stricken baby to me and Penny looks almost relieved.

"She was asleep and woke up crying and hasn't stopped since."

"It's the formula." I say, sitting on the couch. "I'm going to call Dr. Arsmani tomorrow."

I lay Cecelia across my lap and rub circles on her back. Her little body contorts in pain and her screams pierce every corner of the house. Her face is cherry red and she kicks her little legs against my thighs incessantly. I keep thinking, Jim would know what to do.

I lie on the couch and move her to my chest and pull the throw over us.

"I know baby, I know…" I whisper.

She looks up at me with tears stuck to her eyelashes and at this moment she's all Jim. I've been resisting tears and 'behaving' like the strong person I should be, for our family, for Cece. But then she looks at me like that and everything collapses. For the first time in ten days, I cry.

I wake up to daylight coming from the living room window. I've slept on the couch and Cece is still lying peacefully on my chest. We both had a tough night and I guess someone, somewhere thought we both needed a few extra minutes.

I close my eyes again and when I wake up, Cece is wide awake, squirming her clenched fists over my shirt. I sit up because I know exactly what she wants. I undo the buttons on my blouse and she roots around and latches her mouth around my breast. I've missed this intimate moment between her and me. I run my hand over the whiff of hair atop her head and take her little hand in mine. Jim needs to see her.

"Oh, you're awake," Penny says from the living room's threshold.

"Yeah," I say looking down at Cecelia.

"I didn't want to wake you. You looked so comfortable," she says around a coffee mug. "And I wouldn't dare move Cece."

We chuckle a bit. Penny's been my right arm through all of this.

She walks further into the living room and takes a seat next to me. "The doctor called this morning," she says somberly.

I immediately pipe up, ignoring her solemn tone. "What did he say? Is Jim awake?"

"He wanted to tell you that…it's okay to bring Cece in today."

And just like that the waterworks begins because I know what that means.

_Sometimes it feels like we've run out of luck  
When the signal keeps on breaking up  
When the wires cross in my brain  
You'll start my heart again  
When I come along…._

I bring Cece on days eleven through fifteen. The entire ICU staff falls in love with her. On day thirteen she is colicky and cries her little heart out. Jim's EKG shows an accelerated heartbeat. The nurses joke, saying her cries can wake up the dead and perhaps it is true.

On day fourteen, Cece falls asleep after fussing over her bottle. She wants me, but I can't give her what she wants. She has tired herself and tired me out. I feel guilt bubble inside and I cling to her. I hear a whimpering and realize it is mine; my lips become salty with tear trickling down my face. For so many reasons right now, I feel unfit to do… anything.

I reach for Jim's limp hand and squeeze it. "I wish you would just wake up," I plea around a teary sob.

And then it happens.

I feel it. It's very subtle. But I know it's there.

I wait for it again. Cece squirms in my arm, moaning in her sleep. I begin to sway on my feet.

Jim's motionless.

I let go of his hand and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I pull the chair closer to the bed, sit, and intertwine my fingers with Jim's once again.

"Can you hear me?" I venture. My heart will tear right out of my chest if it continues beating like this. "Babe? I'm—w-we're here."

I take a really long breath and release it slowly. I was certain I felt him squeeze my hand, but maybe I just wanted it so badly that as a consolation my mind played this cruel trick on me. I might be slowly going insane.

I wait.

But nothing.

On day fifteen I take my time before heading to the hospital. Cece finally got what she wanted yesterday and today. My breasts hurt from how much milk I'm producing. Overnight. Just like that. Needless to say, Cecelia Marie is in a swell mood today, laughing at the walls—as my mom would say.

When I arrive at the hospital, they tell me Jim's made some progress overnight. They warn me it could mean nothing, but to me it's everything. They say it could be a temporary symptom, but I'm too overjoyed and think of it more as a miracle. I ask what the "symptom" is and the doctor says with a grin, "Brainwaves."

Suddenly I am hovering, looking down on myself from above. Faded jeans, pink sweater, glassy eyes, big unabashed smile, laughing at the plain white walls of the hospital.

On day sixteen Cece gets sick and I stay home with her. I hate not being able to bring her to see Jim, but she had a persistent fever the previous night and it has continued 'till today. She's very limp and congested and just wants to be held. I don't mind her clinginess today. I just hope this cold will be out of here soon.

I don't bring her to the hospital from days seventeen through nineteen. I leave her with Penny for a couple of hours so I can go see Jim. He has stabilized again and no more progress has been made. The doctor thinks if he comes out, he will probably have a brain lesion of some sort, but he changes his prognosis when Jim kicks both his legs and moves his fingers that night.

Now, the doctor tells me to wait.

I laugh.

What does he think I've doing?

The next day (day twenty) I receive a call from the hospital asking me to come right away. I throw on some clothes, grab Cece, toss a few essentials in a diaper bag, and I'm off. When I get there the nurses tell me Jim woke up during the night. They say he couldn't speak because of the breathing tube, but that he tried to write something.

They hand me the sheet of paper.

They think it's nothing.

There, I see two scribbled letters.

Two c's.

Cece.

I think it's everything.

Jim continues to slowly recover and bliss sneaks in and takes over our lives and everything is color and sound, everything is alive and good. I feel weightless and for the first time, it's okay if I let go. This story will have a happy ending.

Jim starts to wiggle his fingers and toes, but has difficulty moving his arms and his legs. The one thing I want him to do, and it feels needy, perhaps selfish on my part, is talk. They haven't removed his breathing tube—as a precaution. The doctor says his brain is like a child and needs all the assistance it can get, including some powerful drugs, which allows him to be awake only a few hours at a time.

On day…. I don't even know on what day anymore, I bring Cece in with me and when I enter the room, Jim's awake, staring at the television. He immediately sees us enter and smiles around the breathing tube—a lazy, sleepy grin.

"Look, Cee," I say, turning her around. "It's daddy."

He wiggles his fingers and I squeeze his hand. There is nothing compared to what I'm feeling right now.

Cece is very used to coming here. The strange apparatuses, the beeping noises, and blinking lights don't faze her one bit. She keeps her gaze on Jim, always.

I take her little hand and I touch his with hers, but Cece just wiggles around in my arms and her tiny hand goes bouncing in the air. Jim continues to smile, but his eyelids drift close. I think he kept himself awake long enough to see us. I'm thankful.

The day before his breathing tube is removed, I don't sleep. Too much excitement. I can't wait to hear his voice. I get to the hospital at least two hours before and wait with Cece, always with Cece. I go to his room and he's awake, shifting all over the bed. He smiles when he sees us and stretches his arms out for a hug. I embrace him carefully, and plant a kiss on his forehead.

"It's today," I say.

He nods. He can't wait to get that thing out of his throat. He reaches for Cece and I sit her next to him, nestled in the crook of his arms. She lays there and he runs his hand over the whiff of hair on her head. It's getting curly. He smiles—_I told you so._

When they finally pull the tube out, Jim coughs his lungs out. So much so that he throws up. But it's out and we're happy and he's talking, hoarsely, but talking.

"H-hi," he says. I can barely hear him.

I realize I still haven't breathed out. I exhale, slowly, quietly. "Hey," I reply. Happy tears roll down my cheeks.

A week later, the doctor tells us Jim is not out of the woods, and isn't anywhere near where he needs to be physically, but he can go home and continue as an outpatient. We throw a welcome back party. Everyone comes. It's a good day. Jim's finally home.

Physical therapy begins and I'm warned that it could be hard and even discouraging for someone like him, who's always been active. But when he pulls himself up between the two metal bars for the first time and his legs betray him, he isn't fazed. Cece, however, finds it funny and gurgles as if Jim had just done the most comical thing.

"Don't laugh young lady," He says, pulling himself up. "This will be you in a couple of months."

In two short weeks, to everyone's amazement, Jim's back on his feet. He is wobbly and unsteady at times, but he's walking.

That same week, while I'm cooking dinner, Jim calls me very excitedly from somewhere down the hall. He's been trying to help Cece roll over. She wants to do it, but hasn't gotten it figured out yet. She'll contort from side to side, waving her little hands and legs in the air, but won't move. It's pretty funny. She gets very worked up and begins cooing like crazy.

"Pam! You need to see this."

I wipe my hand on my pants and go find them. When I get to the living room, my little babe is rolling around. She finally did it!

"Cece, look at you!" I exclaim.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"How did you get her to do that?" I ask as Jim lays Cece on her back and she rolls over again to her tummy. I can't believe it! I know all parents think this, but I know this little one will be amazing someday, and Jim got to be part of this, albeit small, milestone in Cece's life.

"I don't know, I just showed her the ball and she turned to it," he says smiling. "She just needed the incentive, I guess."

I stand there and just look at her go. The lasagna burns and we go out to dinner to celebrate.

When Jim is deemed well enough, the doctor schedules another radiation session. He says it will be the last one and then….we're done? It's almost impossible to believe. And as usual, when it begins, it's a horrible two weeks of nausea, dizziness, and vomiting. We are better prepared this time around and we endure it like we always have. Every day seems closer to that_ day_—when we're finally free.

On his final evaluation after the two weeks finally end, the doctor takes us to his small, white office, with blank walls and says, "You're tumor free. Now get your head in the game, get it?"

It's the first time both of us laugh at his remarks, which always seem ill-timed. But today, we laugh our heads off because it's gotta be the best thing we've heard in what seems like ages. Just eight months before we sat here, me with Cece in my belly, hearing that everything we planned for could be lost, shattered, gone. But now we sit here, looking ahead because the possibilities are endless.

"Thank you, doctor," Jim says and extends his hand.

I've been trying my best not to break. But, as I sit here, I sob. But these are different tears from when I previously shed them months back. They're tears of relief, happiness. Tears I've been yearning to release, tears that have waited so long to be released.

Jim looks down at me and extends his hand and says, "Let's go?"

I nod.

In the car, David Cook sings through the speakers.

_Try to leave a light on when I'm gone  
Something I rely on to get home  
One I can feel at night  
A naked light, a fire to keep me warm  
Try to leave a light on when I'm gone  
Even in the daylight, shine on  
And when it's late at night you can look inside  
You won't feel so alone _

"Thanks for leaving the light on," Jim says.

I look at him and smile.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Epilogue will follow.


	7. Epilogue

Thank you guys so much for sticking with me and all the angst here. This has been great.

** EmilyHalpert** helped me with Beta'ing this. I own nothing!

* * *

_Pam_

It's a bright sunny day. The breeze is crisp—an indication that winter's passed and spring is just arriving. The sun is high and not one cloud in seen in the expansion of the Philadelphia blue sky. The whole drive down I kept thinking of the events of the previous year; of what Jim, Cece, and I went through that brought us here today.

The months between when we found out about Jim's tumor to the moment we heard the doctor say, 'Jim, you're free,' has a dreamlike quality in my head. Giving birth is my only concrete memory, but then again, I have a usually smiling, blond haired little girl, with her father's grin to show for it. The rest—doctor's visits, radiation treatments, surgeries, hospital—it all feels like a bad dream.

Since then, we've grown to be more patient and content—taking nothing for granted. We had the best teacher, Cece. We weren't really sure how she would turnout, since the last few months of my pregnancy and a few months into her life were short of a walk in the park. But, she is the sweetest, most calm baby I've seen.

This goes to show that Jim and I were right—Cece was not a contraceptive mishap. She needed to be here and she didn't come a minute too soon. All those who frowned upon my pregnancy before Jim and I married didn't know that what was inside me would actually be giving Jim and I life, and not the other way around.

Cece is currently propped up on Jim's shoulders, wearing a big smile and a shirt that says, 'My Dad Beat a Tumor, How About Yours?' We're in line amongst a sea of people waiting to register for the 'Get Your Head in the Game' Awareness walk put on annually by the Kelly-Heinz Grundner Brain Tumor Foundation.

_Jim_

I've been tumor free for nine months and fourteen days. And let me tell you, it feels great. I've fought for each one of those days and will continue fighting for as long as I'm here. An 'amen' would be in order if Pam could hear me right now.

We drove here last night and we really didn't know what to expect. But in the short ten minutes we've been in line, I already met a handful of survivors like me. I've even shared radiation nightmares with a couple of them. Usually, outsiders don't understand what Pam and I went through, but to some level, everyone here does. It's a good feeling.

During breakfast at the hotel we met a woman from Carbondale, Bonnie, and her six year old daughter, Kara, who is a brain tumor survivor. It's their second time doing the walk, but this year they are celebrating 'bein' done,' as Kara puts it. Pam shares the short version of our story and just like that they're making plans to visit one another back at home. Pam tells me later that it's nice to have someone who understands living so close.

After we register, Bonnie shows us around and takes us to this wall, Inspiration Wall, where people post pictures and letters they've written to loved ones who's affected by a brain tumor or who has passed because of it. Bonnie takes a picture of her daughter and clips it to the wall, underneath it she has Kara write one word, 'survivor.'

I see other pictures and other smiling faces, some big and some small, beaming at me. Some say 'survivor,' others say 'will be missed,' or 'almost there.' I pull Cece from my shoulder and hold her close to me. The breeze toys with her hair and she looks up at me with her mother's eyes. I kiss her cheek and she puckers up for another and I kiss her again with a loud smacking noise. The kid giggles.

"Whatchu laughing about, Huh?" Pam says and tickles her belly. Cece contorts in my arms and burrows her face on my shirt. Pam smiles and looks up at me. "You're still planning on carrying her all 5 kilometers?"

She's just saying that because Cece is no lightweight. Baby folds are her style.

"Yeah." I reply. Confident. "But she can walk too, if she wants."

Pam rolls her eyes and begins to dig through the backpack on my back. "I'm just saying, don't wimp out on kilometer number two."

"I brought Kara's stroller with me," Bonnie chimes in. "Cecelia can borrow. Kara wants to walk." She looks down at little Kara, who clearly disapproves the whole stroller thing too. "Sometimes we get tired, don't we, Kare?"

"I'm gonna walk ALLLL the way," Kara says. She's missing her two front teeth.

Pam finally emerges from behind me with a photo in hand. It's a picture of the three of us at the hospital. I'm on the bed, shaved head, holding a much younger Cece with Pam seated next to me. It's a sad picture; I don't know why she carries it with her.

She walks up to the wall and pins it there, running her hand over it. At the bottom she writes in her neatest cursive,_ survivor_.

People start to gather around the center stage and shortly the opening remarks begin. The president of the foundation relates the short version of the mission statement and lays out the purpose of the walk. They read names of those who lost the fight and release white doves in their honor. Cece goes crazy, pointing at the birds and saying, 'Loooh Da-da…loooh…" She claps and laughs at her own wit.

Shortly after, a little girl of about five, also a brain tumor survivor, pulls on a tied blue ribbon on stage and symbolically kicks off the walk.

_Pam_

Cece is a great icebreaker here. As we walk, it's inevitable not to strike up a conversation with those around us. The first thing they notice about Jim and I, is her. Conversations starts out simple, 'What's her name?," "Where you from?, "Your little girl is so cute." Then the unavoidable questions come, "Why are you here?," "Who are you here for?," and "How long has it been?" It's a little easier for Jim and I to share our story—it has a happy ending. Most of them don't.

We are around kilometer two when Bonnie waves to someone to the right of us. Jim's still strong with Cecelia on his shoulder. Kara is taking a 'water break' on her stroller.

A woman, not older than me, walks towards us and Bonnie welcomes her with a comforting hug. I already know the end of her story. Bonnie introduces her as Cindy from Virginia, and we exchange pleasantries. Cindy is immediately enamored with Cece. She looks wistfully at her.

"She's so precious," she says.

"Thank you," I reply.

"How old is she?"

"Fourteen months."

The woman keeps her gaze on Cece and I'm itching to ask her why she's here. She asks to hold her and Jim's a little too eager to hand her over to Cindy. I see him stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders after.

Cindy runs her hand over Cece's curls and Cece gets a little fussy. She's not too good with strangers. She arches her back and the woman reluctantly lowers her to the ground. She wobbles her chubby legs towards Jim, and instead of picking her up, he takes her hand and walks with her, lagging a few steps behind us. I don't know who he thinks he's fooling.

After Cindy bids us goodbye, Bonnie tells me her daughter died of a malignant brain tumor two years ago. Cece looked like her.

A shiver runs through my spine.

_Jim_

I'm pushing Cece on the stroller now, much to Pam's amusement. It's the last kilometer. I lasted ALL previous four with a future heavy weight champ in my arms. That's something, right? But that's nothing compared to what this little one, or what the one who gave her to me has done for me.

All worth it.

I didn't get to hear what Bonnie's friend said. But it shook Pam up a bit. She looked at me with glazed eyes and pulled Cece from the stroller and into her arms.

Sometimes I think what would have happened if I my story had a different ending. Who would my kid call dad? Who would Pam reach for at night? Whose outstretched arms would Cece have walked into when she took her first steps? I hate to think that there could be someone else there in my place, or worse, that there would be no one there.

Pam is a big believer that things happen for a reason. I am not so sure. I still can't understand why we had to go through what we did, especially during the time in which it happened. I missed a month and then some of my daughter's life. It just doesn't seem fair. But Pam's beautiful mind always sees the good, always sees a lesson to be learned.

Perhaps she is right. And I hope someday to see the whole thing under the same light she sees.

_Pam_

We made it! All 5 kilometers. It feels good. I feel really good. I heard so many stories and personal accounts from people who have been on our shoes and I'm so thankful for having been here today.

There's a cookout in the end, and as I sit with Bonnie and Kara eating hamburgers, I spy Jim at the dessert stand feeding Cece ice cream. It is the funniest thing. Although he is holding the sugar cone, Cece has her tiny fingers curled around his bigger ones. The ice cream has melted all over their hands and it drips to the ground like paint. But that's not the funny part. The funny part is when Cece opens her mouth really wide and goes for the ice cream, Jim smears it around her mouth, like he's putting lipstick on her. She doesn't mind and runs her tongue around her pink lips and goes for it again.

"And I was here thinking Jim was a good dad," Bonnie chuckles.

"Look at her, she loves it."

I tear up. If things had turned out differently, this would be one of the moments Cece would've missed out on. Bonnie is quick to notice.

"How hard was it?" She asks.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"How hard was it to almost lose him?" She says, "Losing Kara would've been the end of me."

I let the tears roll. This is a safe place. "Um….When we found out, I was seven months pregnant, and all I could think of was him not getting to meet her." I breathe in and out. "Jim and I had a bit of a timing problem in the beginning, but when everything was finally perfect, it happened. I couldn't get my head around it."

Bonnie nods. She knows.

"I found out we were having a girl. We promised to keep it a surprise, but I couldn't wait. I just wanted something I could look forward too... I let it slip, the day before she was born."

"Oh no, how?"

"I had been so cautious, you know? But I guess my guard was down and the contractions were coming and Jim was going crazy and I said 'she' when I referred to the baby. I really thought he would be mad, but God, you had to see his face. And I thought, 'he needs to be here, she needs to meet him…' If this was Jim's fate, at least I had all those memories of us. But what would she have?"

I look at Jim and Cecelia and she is covered in ice cream—it's in her hair, her clothes, Jim's clothes—juts…everywhere! "I always knew Jim would be a great dad," I say and release a tear soaked chuckle. "I always wanted her to have that."

"To be covered in chocolate ice cream?"

"Yes."

_Jim_

I have covered Cece and I in ice cream. Pam admonished us, but I know she didn't mean it. She was laughing all the way. And because I knew she would laugh, we saved some ice cream just for her.

The day's events come to a close and Pam and I begin to pack up. Pam tears up saying good-bye to all the good friends we've made here today while vowing to see them again next year. This was an experience we're never going to forget. I'm really lucky I got to share it with my girls. It will be the new family tradition.

Cece is tired out, slumbering on my shoulder. I think she had the most fun. I lower her in the car seat and she wakes up a little, floating between sleep and awake, not really knowing where she is. She extends her little hands towards me and very sleepily says, "Noooo, Da-da."

"S'okay Cee, go night-night," I say and kiss her hair. But she's insistent and begins to whine. And because she has me so tight around her little finger, I unbuckle her and lift her to me. She quiets right away. Pam chuckles somewhere behind us.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she brushes it off, knowing I rarely deny Cece when she calls me dad. It's my Achilles' heal. "Come sit," she says motioning to a bench. I sit next to her and she says, running her hand over Cece's hair. "She's too tired."

"Either that, or it's a sugar crash."

She chuckles. "My poor baby."

I gaze at my amazing wife and lower my lips to meet hers. This woman will always take my breath away. "So," I begin as our lips part. "This was really nice, huh?"

"Yeah, good turnout," she says, smiling sheepishly at me." Bonnie said there was twice the number of people here this year."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-hm."

I adjust Cece on my shoulder and with my free hand, I pull Pam to me. She fits right in the crook on my arm. I kiss her hair and she smells of fruit and barbeque. Cece shifts in my arm, turning her flushed face towards me. She's sweaty and her hair sticks to her forehead. I always deny it and say she looks like Pam, but the kid, aside from her curly hair, is exactly like me.

Pam pushes Cecelia's hair away from her forehead and says, "She's so much like you."

"Nah… She's totally you." I wink to make sure she knows it too.

_Pam_

We drive back, mostly in silence, listening to Cece's deep breathing in the back seat. I rest my head on the headrest and turn to look at Jim. He looks at me and smiles. His cheeks are full and flushed. His hair sticks out from underneath his baseball cap. I want another baby with his smile.

_Jim_

We get home, and I have to say, it's good to be here. Cece raises her hands in the air and says, "O-oome."

I do the same. "Home!"

She smiles really big, showing all her teeth. When you have a kid you're always celebrating something, being home is at the top of our list.

"Is Cece going night, night now?" I ask her.

She beans that mischievous grin of hers and says, "Nooo."

I guess I'm not either.

_Pam_

Jim and Cece are asleep on the couch. Cece is sprawled over his chest wearing only her diaper. Somewhere between playing baby dolls and watching WALL-E her clothes went missing. Jim has only one sock on and a pink clip clinging to a few strands of his hair.

I keep my gaze on the two most important people in my life. The scene is very poignant. I must sketch this.

_Jim_

I wake up and the streetlights wash the living room in orange. Cece is asleep on my chest and Pam is slumped over our love seat across from us. I get up and carefully lay Cece on the couch. She's out for the night. I walk over to Pam and I see her art supplies scattered around her feet. Tucked between the couch cushions I find her sketch book.

I pull it to me and leaf through the pages. There's a lot of Cece in here. Pam's an amazing artist. But on the last page I see what she was doing while Cece and I slept. There's a replica, almost photo-like sketch image of us. I smile and when I go to put it down, a folded piece of paper falls from it.

I unfold it, and when I realize what it is, it surprises me that she has kept it all this time.

"What you got there?" She asks around a yawn.

I turn around and hold the paper for her to see. "Why'd keep this?"

"It's when I knew."

I sit next to her. "Knew what?"

"That you weren't gone."

I gaze at her and smile. "I could never be gone." I gesture to Cece.

"Yeah," she says pensively.

She lays the piece of paper on the coffee table and the two scribbled c's stare back at me.

"You weren't getting rid of me that easily," I joke. We've talked about this, about everything. Today just brought up feelings we had tucked away. "Should we call it a night?"

"Yes," she says.

I gather Cece in my arms and together we climb the stairs to Cece's bedroom. After we tuck her in, we tuck ourselves in, snuggling closely for warmth. When Pam's breaths even out, I know it won't be long until I surrender to sleep too.

I inhale and exhale, saying to no one in particular,"Not a bad day."

* * *

In memory of my loving uncle (1968-2010).


End file.
